A New Start
by queenofjawnlock
Summary: John and Sherlock drink to celebrate after solving a particularly tough case, but things get out of hand quickly and they must come to terms with their true feelings for each other.


The apartment glowed with the comforting light of the fireplace. Outside, rain cascaded down the glass window, pooling and collecting in the crack where the window met the window sill. Quiet, calming piano music drifted upstairs from Mrs. Hudson's flat, and the soothing melodies made John feel even better about his successful day with Sherlock. He looked back on the day. He could hear, playing in his mind over and over again, Sherlock's scattered trains of thought he spoke aloud while standing over a dead body in the dark alleyway. Rain had soaked through Sherlock's coat collar and he was soaking wet, but he just stood over the body, not trying to just do his job, but really trying to understand the circumstances which had led to this murder. The man, laying face down on the cement, was fairly dry. He hadn't been there for very long, and certainly had not died there. It wasn't adding up, and Sherlock was becoming more and more frustrated by the minute. "Why would this man be placed here after his murder? Why?" The detective questioned repeatedly. John had suggested that they call it a night and head home. He told Sherlock that they would both think better with a fresh mind in the morning, but Sherlock wouldn't have any of his suggestions. Stubborn man, why won't he listen to anyone for a change? John pondered as he stood up from the armchair, which was worn out from many nights of Sherlock sitting and analyzing cases. John reached out to grab the arm of the chair to regain balance after struggling to stand for a brief moment. Standing all day at the crime scene had bothered his leg, and it wasn't about to stand for much longer.

When he stabilized himself, he walked quietly to the kitchen, not to disturb Mrs. Hudson too much, who was now humming downstairs to the piano music. He drew the shiny kettle from the cupboard, as well as two teacups and saucers. While the kettle was filling with water, he glanced around the apartment worriedly. Where was Sherlock? Surely he shouldn't be in this storm too long. He had mentioned going to the market to pick up some dinner, but that had been a while ago. Where was he?

The kettle was full of water now, and John lifted it gently from the sink and dried the water droplets that had escaped to the outside of the kettle away with a dish towel. As he turned to the sink, he looked out into the main living room to the fireplace mantel. Propped up on a biology book was Sherlock's friend, the skull. John looked at the skull bitterly. "He spends a hell of a lot more time talking to you than he does to me." He muttered under his breath as he placed the kettle on the stove.

"What was that, John?" A deep voice said, and from the shadow of the living room came Sherlock. John's heart stopped for a moment as he quickly turned to face him.

"Jesus, you startled me, Sherlock! When did you get back? Where were you?" Sherlock stepped into the kitchen without saying a word, and put some grocery bags on the counter top.

"I was picking up food, like I said I was going to do." He had taken off his coat at the door but his buttoned shirt was still soaked through. John glanced at Sherlock's curly dark hair, which was dripping with rain. As if Sherlock knew that John was noticing exactly that, he brought his long fingers to his hair and tousled it about, sending little beads of water every which way. "I also brought us something to drink, to celebrate solving the case today. Something a little... Stronger than tea." John looked at the brown bag on the counter and noticed that, in fact, there was also a glass bottle of rum in the bag, amongst the various breads and vegetables.

"So I guess we won't be having tea tonight, is that right?" John asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Sherlock just looked at him for a second and then reached up

into the cabinet to grab some glasses. Finding some, he watched John turn off the stove out of the corner of his eye as he precariously poured the liquid into the first glass. "Here, John." He held up the drink he'd just poured without looking up from the other glass he was pouring. John took it from his extended hand, and when Sherlock finished pouring his drink the two men walked from the kitchen to the sitting room, each holding their drink. Sherlock had also brought the remaining alcohol in the bottle with him, to top off the drinks later.

"You know I don't drink very often, Sherlock. Not rum anyway. It goes straight to my head, like nothing else I've ever drunk before." He swished the drink around in its shining glass for a second and took a sip. "It's good though. We deserve it after a long day of hard work. You did a great job out there."

"As did you, John. You're a good person to have by my side out in the fields. You know what you're doing. Unlike that idiot, Anderson." John laughed for a few seconds and Sherlock just smiled and looked out the window. Outside, late night cabs were rushing around, and the sound of them driving through the puddles that had collected in the streets was becoming less frequent. Life was slowing down for the night, as more and more people were arriving home and going to bed.

"I still don't understand why, or how you did it. Faking your own death, Sherlock, why? You should have at least told me. Just me." Sherlock looked up at John, who's eyes were glossing over with tears. "You're my best friend. You were gone for two years, I don't know how I survived that long without you. I was depressed, Sherlock, more so than ever." He took a deep breath and looked out the window. The room glowed with the light of the fire, but the rest of the flat was dark. He took several drinks of his rum and finished off the glass.

"John..." Sherlock got up and pulled his chair closer to John's, so they weren't across the room from each other anymore, but right next to each other. "John, it was a confusing time for us both. I needed to disappear and you needed time to mourn. But I'm back now. And I am here to stay." He placed a hand on John's shoulder for comfort, but he wasn't sure if he was comforting John, or himself.

Suddenly, John sat his now empty glass on the small coffee table in front of him, next to the large stack of Science Weekly magazines and an empty nicotine patch box. He stood up and walked to the window, looking out onto the street. Baker Street was empty, and the light posts stood, bowing their heads, as if dismayed to be standing out in the pouring rain all alone.

"I didn't need time to mourn if you weren't really dead, Sherlock." John never took his eyes off the road, which was dancing with water drops hitting the puddles with an almost hypnotic pattern. "I missed you. More than you'll ever be able to understand."

Sherlock quickly finished off his drink and leaned forward in his chair. Conversations like this hurt him so badly. All he wanted in life was to see John happy. His elbows were resting on his knees and he tousled his hair one more time before standing. He kicked his shoes off quietly and pushed them under the coffee table with his socked foot. He began to walk towards John.

"John..." He started saying. "John, I did what I had to do to save lives. Your life. Mrs. Hudson's life. I needed-"

"Shut up, Sherlock. Just shut up! I'm tired of hearing about your excuses! You left me, Sherlock. I needed you. There were ways out of this situation and you took the one that hurt everyone the most. I thought you were dead. I spent days sitting in that bloody cemetery. And all that was for nothing. It was a silly waste of time." A tear escaped his left eye and he turned to the window again, sniffling quietly and wiping the tear away with his thumb. This hit home with Sherlock. He felt it in his heart and was confusing, he knew he'd done everything in his power to keep John safe and still he was upset. He'd just wanted to protect his friend. Suddenly, John turned to the detective and advanced towards him with a single step, and wrapped his arms around the detective. He buried his face in Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock tensed for a second, definitely not anticipating this. But after a moment, he lifted his arms and wrapped them around John's back. He noticed how well their bodies fit together and it was a strange concept, considering their six inch height difference. Sherlock took a deep breath and inhaled the smell of John, of aloe hand soap and tea leaves, as well as the slight smell of their rum. He gently tightened his grip on John. At the same moment, John breathed in Sherlock's wonderful smell, a slight musky cologne and shower gel, a smell he'd missed so much when he thought Sherlock was dead. He'd once drunkenly taken the cologne and spritzing it in his bedsheets before he went to bed, and the smell was intoxicating. It secretly got him off that night, but he couldn't bring himself to do that again due to the guilt and shame he'd felt the next morning. He could barely stand to admit to himself that that had actually happened.

The embrace lasted for three or four seconds, then John pulled back a little to look at Sherlock. His eyes shone a bright greyish blue mix, and the light of the fire made them look darker and more mysterious. John's own eyes, though still cloudy with tears, met Sherlock's quickly and looked down again. Sherlock scanned John's face a couple times, a bit confused but for the most part enjoying the closeness with John. When their eyes locked for the last time, it was as if suddenly they both knew what each other wanted. John tried to hide the sincere look he had on his face. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Sherlock lick his lips slightly and part them. Before he really had time to think about what he was doing, John had leaned forward and hesitantly but surely touched his lips to Sherlock's. He seemed surprised with himself but didn't let it show. A little more assertively and with a sudden boost of confidence, he kissed Sherlock again, thinking of how long he'd been wanting to come to term with his feelings for him and how long he'd been fantasizing about a moment like this. Sherlock's mind was racing. His whole entire being was overcome with feelings. Confusion, passion, lust, protection, and belonging. These emotions flooded his thoughts all at once. He reached his hand up and cupped the back of John's head with his long fingers and started to kiss him back. He could tell that John was smiling and it made him feel even happier. He curled his fingers in John's sandy blonde hair and John grabbed a handful of Sherlock's white shirt in his fist, pulling it gently and knotting it around his hand to pull Sherlock's body closer to his. The kiss became more consuming and John bit down on Sherlock's bottom lip, drawing a low, extremely sexy moan from Sherlock's throat. Sherlock had always secretly loved a little bit of pain. A bite on the lip or a small pinch really made him want more, and John knew this. They'd been in the kitchen several months ago, and John had noticed a couple deep indentations in Sherlock's forearm, near the crook of his elbow. Small fingernail cuts where he'd pinched and broken his own skin- and liked it- were mildly swollen and bruised. Barely enough to notice, but there from the night before. It had surprised John to see that Sherlock had a pain kink. It had fascinated him really, to think that even on his own, Sherlock could, and did, use that kink to his advantage when satisfying himself. He'd never took Sherlock for a kinky man, but John had a small kink of his own- He loved to have his hair tugged on, and it drove him crazy to have fingers run through it.

John pulled away from Sherlock for a moment, and said while taking a breath, "Why don't we sit down? We've been standing all day."

"Naturally." Sherlock muttered and they backed up towards the chair John had been sitting in earlier, and sat down, Sherlock first, with John falling into his lap. They continued to kiss, with John's arms tightly wrapped around Sherlock's shoulders. John had noticed earlier that night that Sherlock's shirt was not tucked in and he slowly let go of his own hand and put it under the bottom of the shirt, with it now lingering on Sherlock's stomach. He rubbed the skin with his thumb, every so often giving Sherlock a small pinch, which he knew was driving him crazy. Each time he pinched him, Sherlock would moan a little bit in his throat, which in return would drive John out of his mind. For endless nights John had thought about Sherlock. He'd thought about kissing him and about giving him little pinches and bites. In his imagination, Sherlock's little uncontrollable sounds of desire and satisfaction would drive him nuts but in reality- He could barely breathe upon hearing them. He wanted Sherlock's shirt off so badly, and when he started working the buttons, Sherlock made a quiet sound that was an indescribable mixture of a laugh and a moan. John couldn't even conceive of a sound sexier than that, or that turned him on more than that did, besides the sweet and somber sounds of Sherlock's violin.

As John struggled with the buttons on the damp white shirt, his fingers kept slipping due to his obvious lack of concentration.

"Oh, to hell with the buttons." He muttered. He held the two sides of the shirt and with a forceful pull, he started popping the buttons off the shirt, one by one, savoring the slow but at the same time rough act of tearing the fabric and threads. The last button came unraveled quickly and fell down between the cushion of the chair. John placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and ran them down his back, and Sherlock was quick to pull his arms out of the sleeves. The shirt slid behind Sherlock into the crack of the chair and it became compacted behind them as they moved around. John, who'd begun to shift into an uncomfortable position with his back against the arm of the chair, shifted his weight to the center of Sherlock's lap, and moved his leg to the other side of him, now straddling him. He put his hands on either side of Sherlock's face, and as they kissed, John noticed how soft and smooth his face was. He'd always admired that Sherlock was always clean shaven. He bit down on his bottom lip again, which sent a small wave of ecstasy through Sherlock's entire body, particularly his groin. He began to grind his hips against John's crotch. "Jesus, Sherlock." he groaned, and moved his head so he could bite Sherlock's ear. While John was biting and sucking on his ear, Sherlock lustfully tugged John's shirt up and ran his hands up his back. The feeling of his long nimble fingers brushing his back drove him mad. The shirt was slipped off quickly and tossed to the floor. He inched closer to Sherlock, pushing his crotch hard against his and rocking his body slowly. He bowed his head down a little further and started nibbling and sucking on Sherlock's neck. He groaned when Sherlock scratched his back- hard- with his fingernails in response to the bites.

"Bite...Harder..." He demanded, almost greedily, through gritted teeth, and John was quick to do it. Biting down with more force, the sensitive skin on Sherlock's neck was soft and warm. He started a pattern, biting hard at first and then sucking on the bite. Sherlock threw his head back and made a whining noise from the incredible feeling. He lifted his head and looked into John's eyes. They were very dark and sexy, yet they seemed so lost and in desperate need of more.

His long fingers returned to John's body. They descended slowly from his chest, to his ribs, then down over his stomach to the fine line of hair starting at his navel. He ran his thumb over that line repeatedly while sucking on John's bottom lip. He had his eyes closed and he was truly lost in pure bliss when he realized that Sherlock had unbuttoned his trousers. Sherlock's thumbs were tracing the slight indents where John's waistband had cut into his skin. He sat up enough so that Sherlock could tug the pants down. Green plaid boxer shorts appeared from under the denim. Each touch made John's body crave Sherlock more. He wanted to touch him and be touched by him. He wanted to please him, to make him feel pleasure like never before. He wanted to make it so that Sherlock would never have to spend a night trying to satisfy himself again.

"We should move down onto the floor, John." Sherlock whispered quietly. John stood up from the chair carefully and Sherlock rose after that.

"I suppose you want me to-"

"Of course." Sherlock confirmed what John was going to ask without even having to hear the rest of his question. John liked that, it made him feel closer with Sherlock. He proceeded to fully take the trousers off while Sherlock laid down on the floor. John stepped over to where Sherlock was laying and sat down on his hips, straddling him again. "No John. Move up here. Closer to me." Underneath him he could feel a huge amount of tension in Sherlock's pants. As he put his weight on his knees so he could move up, he noticed the reason for all the tension. Sherlock was hard, very hard. John smirked as he moved up, closer and closer until he was sitting on Sherlock's bare chest. "Perfect..." He muttered and as he gently pulled the plaid boxers down, John's erection, which Sherlock had been grinding up against earlier, was free now, unrestrained by the shorts. Sherlock sat up on his elbows, drew in a deep breath and looked admiringly up at John. Then, without hesitation, took him in his mouth. John gasped and leaned his head back with closed eyes. He'd start to loudly groan but force himself to stop, for risk that Mrs. Hudson would hear and decide to come up and investigate.

"Fucking Christ, Sherlock..." he said between broken breaths. He couldn't stop himself from thrusting his hips towards Sherlock and each time he did, the feeling became more and more sensational. His body established a rhythm, and before long he felt an aching tension beginning to build up in his lower stomach. No, he didn't want to come yet. This felt way too good. Sherlock sensed him getting close, too, and without taking his mouth off him, he placed his hands in John's hair and pulled his back roughly to break up his rhythm.

"Ohh god..." He groaned loudly. "Thank you, Sherlock."

Sherlock continued, taking him deeper in his mouth than before. The warmth and wetness of Sherlock's mouth sent shivers up John's spine. Not being able to hold his own weight anymore, he placed his hands on the floor above Sherlock's. He tried desperately to not thrust harder into his mouth, but his body took over, disregarding what his mind wanted him to do. He was overcome with pleasure being able to move the way his body wanted, and Sherlock loved it too, considering the loud and long lasting moans escaping from him. His tongue moved around him sensually, occasionally flicking the tip with the end of his tongue. John was digging his fingernails hard into the carpet, grasping tightly for any sort of control he could get. Every inch of his body was overly sensitized, even the roots of his hair felt electric. His back muscles flexed while he strained to keep his body up, and not collapse. His legs were starting to shake now, and the tremors expanded rapidly over his whole entire being. Sherlock was about to disrupt John's rhythm again when John yelled between heavy breaths, now not caring how loud he was being.

"Don't, Sherlock... Oh, oh good god... Let me go..." He searched frantically for a breath but couldn't get one, he was panting too hard. Finally, he couldn't control his body anymore, despite his desperate attempts to keep the feeling going forever. He came with a strong orgasm that extended throughout his whole entire body. Shock waves of ecstasy flowed through him repeatedly, not letting up. He gasped for air. He grabbed Sherlock's hair and tangled his fingers in it, and pulled hard while trying to come down from such a powerful orgasm. "Oh my god..." He sighed while catching his breath. Then he moved back onto Sherlock's belly and leaned forward, kissing Sherlock hard, biting down on his bottom lip so hard it bled. Sherlock moaned into John's mouth and licked the blood off of the inside of his lip. Blood was another thing that got him going. When he'd pinch or bite his own skin and it'd draw blood, he'd become even more aroused and excited. Something about the way John inflicted pain he'd really liked.

They laid on the floor kissing messily for a few minutes after that. John had re-positioned himself so that they were laying body to body. John looked up suddenly, right into Sherlock's eyes. "We're not done here, you know. You deserve everything. Give me one minute, I have to go get something. I'll be back in a minute." He stood up, smiled at Sherlock, and walked towards Sherlock's room. He lost his balance for a second, and he was slightly dizzy from the alcohol. He turned the knob to Sherlock's door and it clicked open. A rush of cold air hit John. It was always a little bit colder in this room than in the sitting room, John had noticed, even though this was only the third time he'd been in this room. Over in the far corner, next to a small nightstand, sat Sherlock's briefcase, and with that was his leather riding crop he used at the morgue to test the corpses. He'd heard Sherlock talking about it on the day they met in the lab. He picked it up, the cool leather chilled his hand. Holding it tightly, he sat on the edge of the bed. Closing his eyes, he exhaled deeply, thinking about the amount of pleasure he'd just been given. It was mind-blowing. He didn't know Sherlock was even capable of that type of intense loving, and he wished he'd made his move on him sooner- _A lot sooner_. Then maybe he wouldn't have had to spend so many lonely nights trying to satisfy his hunger and craving for Sherlock by himself. Deciding not to keep Sherlock waiting any longer, he stood with the crop, walked out of the bedroom, closed the door, and returned to the sitting room.

John entered the room to discover that Sherlock had rolled onto his back. It took John's breath away, seeing Sherlock laying out on the floor, his skin shining. He looked magnificent. When he saw the riding crop in John's hand, he smirked. John sunk to his knees next to Sherlock and whispered to him, barely loud enough to hear.

"I figured we'd be able to use this to our advantage. I know you like your pain, what do you think?" He nodded, the dark, sexy shimmer in his eye shone more than ever. With that, John threw one leg over to the other side of Sherlock's body. He buried his face in his pillow while John sat on top of him. To tease Sherlock, he ground his crotch into his bare back. He moaned into the pillow under his face. John leaned over and slowly started sucking the skin at the very top of Sherlock's spine. He then moved his head downward a little bit, sucking at the next digit of his spine. He continued to the third spot, sucked on it for a few seconds, then following Sherlock's whimpers into the pillow, a sudden slapping noise filled the air around them. As the crop hit the third wet spot on Sherlock's spine, he cried out in pain, but as the pain subsided his yells had quickly turned to groans that were muffled by the pillow. The throbbing pain took over, and it felt excellent. John established this pattern. Every third kiss to be swatted hard by the crop. Sherlock was getting extremely aroused, more than he already was. He knew that if John kept this torturous routine up for much longer it'd definitely end with him coming, he could feel it already starting to build up. There were 11 red marks trailing down Sherlock's spine now, and John had finished making them. He was sure they'd turn to bruises by morning. He was now running his fingers over every inch of Sherlock's back, pinching when it wasn't expected and listening to him moan and feeling him writhe in pleasure under him. John had become hard again from hearing Sherlock's various sounds. It had such an amazing affect on him, like it had in his fantasies on those lonely nights.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you, Sherlock. I'll do whatever you want me to do to you."

"Oh God, John. Please... Whisper that to me again." He groaned into his pillow, quite urgently. A wave of pleasure and arousal cast throughout John's body as he leaned over close to Sherlock's ear.

"I'll do _whatever_ you want me to do to you, Sherlock." It was whispered so quietly and slowly that John could barely hear himself say it. Sherlock moaned softly and rolled onto his back. His eyes were closed and he seemed like any touch at all would send him over the edge. Now aligned with Sherlock's hips, John leaned forward and started to kiss his collar bone, then began to gently bite it, slowly and gradually applying more pressure to his soft skin. Moans turned into whimpers and he released the skin, and began to suck on the bite again. Sherlock had involuntarily arched his back and tilted his head back.

"Oh John..." He whispered. John started kissing Sherlock's neck and sucking on his overly sensitized skin. He trailed kisses upwards towards his ear and bit his earlobe. Feeling John's breathing on his ear caused Sherlock's back to arch again, and he passionately took John's face in his hands and kissed him. It was a consuming and lustful kiss. Sherlock was rocking his hips against John. Their bodies moved together in perfect sync while they passionately kissed. John could tell by Sherlock's ceaseless whimpering and loud moaning that he needed more. He got off of Sherlock and crawled between his legs. He promptly wrapped his long legs around John's hips. He frantically reached up and unclasped Shelock's belt, brushing the metal clasp away so he could get to the zipper. Eagerly tugging the trousers and navy blue pants down, he freed Sherlock and wasting no time, took him in his hand. He began like he would have on himself, rubbing the end with his thumb. Spreading his fingers, he began to slowly stroke Sherlock. He groaned loudly and covered his face with the pillow to stifle his loud noises.

"No, Sherlock. Move that. I want to see your face, and I want to see the pleasure I bring to you. Move the bloody pillow." Sherlock groaned and reluctantly complied. He laid his head back on the floor, breathing hard. John continued to touch Sherlock, adding the perfect amount of friction. Sherlock bucked his hips upward and groaned from his throat. In an attempt to not lose it all, he tightened his legs hard around John's torso. John chucked. "Jesus, Sherlock." He teased and the detective moaned in deep frustration. He was having a hard time holding on. He squirmed and exhaled deeply as John tightened his grip and continued stroking him. His breathing set into a perfectly timed rhythm and he let John's name escape from his lips.

"Ah, John, John, oh god, John..." He was breathless and could barely speak. John moved his hand faster than he had been. He looked admiringly at Sherlock's face. His lips were redder from being sucked on and kissed so much. His eyes were closed and he was in a moment of pure bliss. Suddenly, he couldn't hold on anymore. The buildup was too intense and he finally lost his grip on the last shred of control in his body.

"John, oh my god!" He called out to him, coming in a powerful orgasm. His back muscles tensed and he dug his fingernails hard into John's shoulders. Sherlock was breathing hard and his body was glistening with perspiration, both his and John's. He finally began to relax and come down after several long seconds, and he laid back against the floor beneath them. John leaned down and rested his head on Sherlock's chest, which was still rising and falling quite rapidly. He took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around John's warm body. They laid together on the floor, trying to catch their breath while remaining intertwined. After a while, John finally spoke.

"Sherlock, don't ever leave me again. Ever. I need you." He nestled his head against Sherlock's chest. But Sherlock didn't respond. He just tightened his grip on John and kissed his hair, breathing in the smell of him.

"Well, I must go for a shower. You've made quite the mess of me, John Watson." Sherlock sat up, still holding John in his lap. He kissed his forehead, and then kissed him lightly on the lips. It was a gentle and caring kiss that melted John's heart, and it felt more special than any of the other kisses he's received that night.

John sat up and moved off of Sherlock's chest so that he could stand. He stood up and stretched his back, looked around the flat for his shoes and now ruined shirt, and when he found them he picked them up and began walking to the bathroom. He was only wearing socks and trousers (which he'd pulled back up around his waist when he stood), but he was wearing more than John, who'd been stripped down to just his pants. I must look ridiculous, John thought to himself. He picked up his shirt off the floor and pulled it over his head. He turned to walk to his bedroom when he heard Sherlock's voice calling to him. "Care to join me, John?" His eyes widened and a smirk began to spread from the corner of his mouth. A shower, with Sherlock? The thought seemed so foreign to him. This was one of the last things he would have expected from Sherlock, such a reserved man. Oh, don't be silly John, he thought to himself, you've just had sex with him. How reserved is he, really? John shook his head lightly, and the room seemed to spin around him. He'd just remembered that he'd had a fair amount of alcohol that night. Obviously he'd forgotten in the dramatic turn of events that had taken place. He glanced over to the table and saw that the rum bottle on top of the Science Weekly magazines had been neglected, still somewhat full. Stepping over paper stacks and his own laptop that had been sadly abandoned on the floor, he reached out, grabbed the neck of the bottle, and took a long drink. Then, with a determined expression on his face, he made his way to the bathroom.

The door was halfway open, as he'd expected. When he pushed it open the rest of the way, it creaked, and John could see the outline of Sherlock's body through the warped glass of the shower. Without even turning around, Sherlock knew of John's presence.

"Take your clothes off, John. Green pants and a grey shirt together don't suit you very well." Nice. John opened his mouth to make a sarcastic comment about Sherlock's crude lack of charm, but refrained. It was strange getting naked in the same room as Sherlock, despite the very intimate things that had just occurred. He looked into the mirror. Oh, sex hair. He tousled his hair around to make it look more even and not so messy. It was a lost cause. He grasped the rum bottle tightly in his left hand and approached the shower. The glass door slid open with ease, and when it opened, a cloud of steam warmed his body. As he looked upon Sherlock's completely naked body for the first time, he was shocked by the beauty of it. His skin was wet and smooth, drops of water trickled down his shoulders, back, and thighs. John admired the marks trailing down his spine that were already turning into bruises. The places where he'd struck with the crop were red and swollen.

"Sherlock..." He whispered. He took a step closer to him just as Sherlock turned to face him. John was momentarily stunned at his comeliness. Sherlock reached down and took the bottle out of his hand and brought it to his lips. He never took his eyes off John while he took a drink and set it down on the shower floor. He then leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on John's forehead.

"You're incredible, John. Everything about you makes me want you." He brought his hand up, tilted John's head up with his pointer finger, and kissed him. All the thoughts in his head disappeared. It was just him and Sherlock together. The kiss became deeper and more fervent when Sherlock leaned forward, forcing John against the glass wall of the shower. Sherlock's hand skimmed down John's chest, descending over his stomach, down to his crotch. He took John into his hand and running his thumb over him rhythmically. John sighed loudly and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the glass. "Do you like it, John? Do you like when I do this to you?" John nodded and whimpered quietly. "Tell me. Tell me that you like this."

John swallowed and licked his lips before speaking. "I like it when- Oh, god... Sherlock." He moaned. "I like it when you touch me. I like it so much." Sherlock tightened his grip on John and moved his hand back and forth at a steady pace. John pressed his back harder into the glass wall and soon his body wasn't able to support him due to the sudden overwhelming influx of pleasure. He sank to the floor, sliding slowly down the wall. Sherlock lowered to his knees and continued to touch John. He suddenly came intensely, yelling out the name of his new found lover.

"God dammit Sherlock. How do you do this to me?" He stammered, trying to catch his breath. He looked into the glowing eyes that were partially covered by wet, curly brunette hair. God, he was so intimidating. And honestly it made John want him even more. John gingerly placed his hand on the sharp line of Sherlock's jawbone and ran his fingers on the smooth skin. It was as if he couldn't get enough of him. He never wanted to take his hands off Sherlock Holmes. He wanted to claim him as his own forever.

They sat and continued kissing intimately for quite some time, even after the water had started turning cold. Finally the last of the heated water had been used up and Sherlock suddenly pulled away, shivering as he stood to turn the water off. John admired Sherlock's back and the trail of small bruises beginning to appear while he grabbed a towel that had been draped over the glass panel of the shower. Sherlock extended his hand towards John, to help him stand. His long, slender fingers felt so soft against his own hand. They looked so graceful and delicate, and John was surprised at how well Sherlock knew how to use them. He dried the small droplets of water off of his body and knotted the towel around his hips, ruffled his hair with his fingertips, and left the bathroom without saying a word. John stood there in the bathroom for a second shivering and still wet. He furrowed his brow and pondered the sudden mood change while absentmindedly searching for another towel. Under the sink in the cabinet there was a stack of white and black striped towels- Probably purchased by Mrs. Hudson in attempt to match the wallpaper around the apartment. He dried off and turned to leave the bathroom, when he remembered the now empty rum bottle in the shower. I'll get it tomorrow, he thought to himself as he stepped from the bathroom tile into the soft carpet in the hallway. He meandered down to his room, swearing as he tripped on a box filled with small chemistry beakers and scraps of paper with tiny notes and formulas scrawled on them.

When he got to his room, he clung the cool wood frame for a minute, suddenly slightly dizzy. The feeling passed and he opened the door, stepping into his bedroom. Strewn across the top of his dresser were his pajama pants, and he pulled them on effortlessly while searching for a t-shirt. Finding none, he rummaged through the drawers of the dresser until he found a long sleeved white shirt. He pulled it over his head and glanced up at himself in the mirror. The oval shaped mirror with a tarnished golden frame had not been his choice. Mrs. Hudson had insisted that the boys hold on to it, as it was a family heirloom, and Sherlock stubbornly refused to have it. John sighed. It had been a long night and he was getting tired. He was still confused about Sherlock's sudden lack of interest, but he was so exhausted he was beginning not to care. He ruffled his hair a bit and just as he was about to crawl into his bed, his phone vibrated on the dresser top. A text, at this time of night? He stepped over to the dresser and unlocked his phone. **Come at once. Lonely. SH.** was sitting there on the screen, staring him in the face. He smiled a bit, and tossed his phone on the bed as he wandered out of his room. He closed the door as quietly as possible, wanting to not wake Mrs. Hudson, who he assumed had gone to sleep considering the music had stopped making its way upstairs some time ago. After fumbling around trying to find his way, he arrived at Sherlock's door, which was propped open a little bit. He opened it more with his foot, and it quietly creaked. A small burst of cold air wrapped around him.

"Hello, John." His deep voice pierced the dark. He licked his lips as he thought about Sherlock moaning his name in that same sexy voice only a small amount of time before that. Searching blindly around in the dark, he finally found the edge of the bed and sat down cautiously. He jumped a bit when Sherlock's arms wrapped around his abdomen and pulled him up onto the bed. Smiling, he thought about how happy he was in this moment. He laid down and wrapped the grey comforter around his body and scooted closer to him so his back was against Sherlock's front. He leaned his head back so it fit perfectly under Sherlock's chin. He closed his eyes. He'd cuddled with women before but it could never compare to this. This felt so natural and their bodies fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

Sherlock kissed John on the top of his head and tightened up his grasp on his body. His hair smelled like mint shampoo, Sherlock noticed, which was the kind he's bought for himself and hidden under the sink by the towels. He's noticed that his shampoo had been running low much more quickly than usual, so in attempt to save it, he'd hidden it from John so he'd have to buy his own. It intrigued him that John would go out of his way to find his shampoo. He'd always heard of that being some sort of intimate gesture, people secretly using the other person's shampoo or cologne when they were alone. It struck him as strange, he didn't understand it but it must carry some hidden sentiment. Disregarding it quickly, he shifted his thoughts back to John. His breathing had evened out very quickly, and he was asleep now. Lucky him to be able to shut off all of this thoughts so fast. It took hours for Sherlock to fall asleep. He was always analyzing cases or trying to solve problems he'd encountered that day, or thinking of experiments he needed to conduct.

He moved one of his hands away from John's stomach and wrapped his fingers around his hand. John's hands were small but strong and calloused. He ran his thumb over his knuckles and exhaled deeply, letting his mind wander off into a world of infinite cases and infinite nights in which he could fall asleep with his body entangled with John's...

Sherlock woke with a start, and quickly closed his eyes again after light flooded in. His head ached horribly, so badly in fact that it took him a minute to realize that his phone was ringing on the table next to his bed. He squinted and reached for the phone, sliding the lock bar and holding it up to his face. The glass screen felt horribly cold on his soft skin.

'Where the bloody hell are you, Holmes? We need you here today!" Sherlock cringed. The harsh yelling was making his headache worse and he could barely stand it.

"Grant, I'm not coming in today. Neither John or I are. We're... Sick." He glanced down at John, who had his arms wrapped around Sherlock's left bicep. He looked to be dreaming peacefully.

"Grant? What... It's Greg! Like hell you're not coming in. Get your sorry asses down here!" With that, Lestrade hung up. Sherlock chuckled and placed his phone back on the table. John opened his eyes and groaned as the light attacked his tired eyes. He buried his head into Sherlock's shoulder, inhaled, then jolted awake suddenly. He turned his head, looking at Sherlock's face, and the full impact of what happened last night hit him. Sherlock watched John's eyes dilate, but barely enough to notice. He was silent.

"You regret last night." Sherlock looked disappointed, and tried to hide it but failed.

"Oh, no no no. It's just that..." He sighed heavily. "I probably made a complete arse of myself. I told you I can't handle my rum..." He looked away, trying to figure out what to say. His heart was pounding. He was still trying to take it all in.

"No, John. You didn't make a fool of yourself. I rather enjoyed it, actually. I had fun. But if this is to continue, John, I better not see this in your blog. It has to-" John interrupted him by putting his hands on Sherlock's face, cupping his cheeks in his palms.

"I'm not going to breathe a word of this to anyone, because I want it to continue, Sherlock." He came close to Sherlock and kissed him, very gently. Slight memories of last night came flooding back to him. His eyelashes fluttered just at the thought. The rum, the shower, and oh god, the riding crop. Sherlock was very surprised that John was taking it as well as he was. John pulled away. "Is it okay? Your back... The welts?"

"They're fine, John. They burn this morning. They feel great." John smiled at him and kissed him again quickly, then stood to go to the kitchen.

"I'm going to make tea. Will you have some?"

"Of course, bring it to me. I'm staying in this bed all day watching the telly and I suggest you do the same. Today is no day for leaving home. We're taking a sick day." Sherlock winked. John smiled, pleased at the invitation.

"Was that Greg calling just now? What did he want?"

"Nothing." Sherlock was lying, and John knew that clearly. "He was just checking in."

John rolled his eyes and regretted it immediately, his head throbbing in pain. When he got to the kitchen he pulled a bottle of pain relievers from the cabinet above the sink and swallowed two of them. The kettle was still sitting on the stove from last night, and without changing the water, he twisted the dial on the stove to it's maximum heat setting. Yawning, he ventured down the stairs to fetch the newspaper from it's hanging basket Mrs. Hudson had nailed to the wall for them. He grabbed the newspaper, which was damp from the cool England air it had absorbed before Mrs. Hudson had retrieved it. Making his way back up the stairs, he heard humming coming from 221A. Mrs. Hudson must be baking, he thought to himself. It smelled like fresh bread, and it made him think of when he was a child, his mother always used to bake bread, and the nostalgic smell made him happy.

Upstairs, steam was rising from the kettle now and he quickly used it to make their tea. He was excited to go back to bed. From the bedroom John could hear Sherlock shouting at the show on the telly. "No, no! That's not the right tactic to use! You're never going to win using those silly ideas! Try using your head for once!" John smiled. God, he'd missed this. The past two years had been literal hell and he couldn't believe how lucky he was that Sherlock had come back for him.

Back in bed a few minutes later, John had brought Sherlock his tea and the bottle of pain pills for his head. He was snuggled up close to Sherlock, him sitting on the left with his legs on top of Sherlock's thighs. His back rested against the detective's chest. They were wrapped up in a nest of grey down comforters and pillows, and they'd argued about what show to watch for some time. Sherlock had ended the playful bickering by immaturely throwing the remote across the room into the corner. Neither of them wanted to get up and get it so the telly remained on a dramatic daytime lawyer program.

"What's her story?" Sherlock motioned towards the screen. A young woman in a suit with her hair tied up in a tight bun sat in a cafe, checking her watch. The boys had been playing this game, taking a character and trying to figure out their back story. Sherlock already knew what her story was. She was a woman of her late 20's, recently suffered a breakup and was meeting someone of relevance, probably a sibling or friend, due to the intimate setting of this small cafe. Late for work, judging by her constant checking of the time. She was very devoted to her work, so this meeting must be important. She preferred to live alone, even while she was in a relationship.

"Well..." John struggled. "She's waiting for someone... Maybe a client or a boyfriend perhaps? She's quite... She looks like she hates her job...?"

"Brilliant. That's what I got too." Sherlock fibbed. He knew John hated making deductions just to try to keep up with him, so the fact that he was willing to play at all was good enough for him. He kept silent.

John finally had had enough of this show, and got up to retrieve the remote. He tossed it on the bed, and began to wander to the kitchen to make a sandwich. He hadn't eaten anything that day and was absolutely starving. He barely made it to the door, however, when Sherlock spoke up.

"Come back to me, John, I miss you." He had a pouty face on. "I'm cold." He complained like a child.

"I've been up for twenty seconds! I'm just going to get some food. I'll be right back."

In the kitchen he laid down two pieces of bread and dropped some sliced ham on them. He cut a cucumber into small slices and topped that with cheddar cheese. He'd never loved cheddar but he was voraciously hungry, and didn't care what he was eating at the moment. After he put the extra food away in their designated places, he heard Sherlock's laughter coming from the bedroom. Some stupid program must be on, John thought. Stepping carefully over the boxes precariously placed in the hallway, he made it back in time to see some silly cartoon on the telly. He considered asking Sherlock why it struck him as so funny, but he didn't. After he's crawled back up onto the bed, John sat the sandwich on his knee and began flipping through the channels with the remote he'd pried from Sherlock's long fingers. Mystery shows, dramas, news, all flashing by with the click of the remote.

"Oh, for gods sake. Just pick something, John. Just pick a channel and we'll stay on it." Sherlock said, his voice slightly muffled, as though it was full of food. John glanced quickly down at his sandwich, which had three large bites taken out of it.

"Hey! That's my sandwich! Go on, get your own!" He moved the now half devoured food onto the bedside table and looked back to the telly. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's chest.

"Thank you for the sandwich, John." He whispered teasingly, and squeezed him tighter as he buried his head in John's shoulder, inhaling his sweet scent.

"Stop it. Being sweet isn't going to make me forgive you." He muttered, even though it already had. He was blushing slightly at the thought of Sherlock trying to flirt with him.

"Yes, it will." He kissed him gently on the cheek. John turned his head and kissed him, and a surge of protection and happiness flowed through his body. It was in this moment that he knew their friendship was over, but he wasn't upset. He knew that though this was the end of their best friendship, it was the beginning of something much, much more. Something much better.


End file.
